


End of Days

by Dizzojay



Category: Supernatural
Genre: End of the World, Gen, Historical, Humor, Quintuple Drabble, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-30
Updated: 2012-12-30
Packaged: 2017-11-23 00:19:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 505
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/615979
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dizzojay/pseuds/Dizzojay
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Did the mayans really foresee the end of days when their calendar stopped at 21st December 2012? Or was there some other perfectly logical reason?</p>
            </blockquote>





	End of Days

Venezuela, 300 A.D.

The elderly stonemason stood before his masterpiece.

Ichik was old, very old; his skin wizened to leather under the sun's relentless rays and his bones now brittle as snowflakes bearing the weight of his years.

His entire working life had been spent on this enterprise; a calendar reaching centuries into the future. Soon, the great sky-god would take him to his eternal rest, then his son would take over the work, but thanks to his industrious life, Ichik's family name would endure; as through the centuries to come, the pulse of mayan life would beat according to his calendar.

xxxxx

Ichik's gnarled fingers guided his chisel around the final symbol in the date 21st December 2012. He had worked hard this morning, and now it was time to eat and rest his aching fingers before his work resumed.

As he turned, reaching for a banana, a blinding flash startled him and he stumbled backwards, slamming heavily into the vast stone tablet which shuddered precariously.

Opening dazed, watery eyes, he could see three strange figures standing beside his work hut.

The particularly fierce looking one in the middle scratched his head then announced, "Cas, there's no friggin' snow here you dork!"

xxxxx

Hiding under his workbench, Ichik watched in baffled silence as the three figures argued.

"'Snow' I said; zap us somewhere where we can have freakin' snow for Christmas!"

The tallest one spoke; "looks like the rainforest."

A smaller, black-haired man bowed his head; "my vessel has been unwell, and so my compass is a little - off. I believe we have travelled in time as well as distance."

"Off?" snorted the fierce man; "I ask for snow an' I get some friggin' prehistoric swamp with spiders that can bench-press a freight train!"

Another blinding flash and the three men vanished.

xxxxx

Cowering in the musty shadows beneath his workbench, Ichik suddenly heard an ominous crack followed by a menacing rumble, and he just managed to scramble to safety with agility beyond his years, before the great stone tablet bearing his calendar slowly toppled over backwards and tumbled, along with his hut, his workbench, his tools, and even his bananas, into the deep ravine which coiled lazily through the forest behind his home.

Standing helplessly as a drifting detritus of dust and splinters fluttered down around him, he watched in wordless dismay as his life's work vanished forever.

xxxxx

1,700 years later (there or thereabouts)

The first snow was settling on the windowsills of the Daybreak Motel as Sam glanced up from the latest copy of National Geographic; "hey dude," he called across to Dean, who was stretched out on his bed studying his own reading material; "look at this, some guys exploring an overgrown ravine in the Venezuelan rainforest found an ancient Mayan calendar that just stops at 21st December 2012; creepy huh?"

Dean rolled his eyes, "if you say so," he grunted.

Sam smiled and returned to his reading.

... and the rest, as they say, is history.

xxxxx

end


End file.
